


Here to Stay

by AcesOfSpade



Series: LGBTalk [21]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Eventual Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, POV Victor Nikiforov, Panic Attacks, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Unplanned Pregnancy, also there is no medical transphobia, and one instance of a deadname (of sorts), im sorry for this yall, is some pain, just societal, my first fic in this soft soft fandom, somehow the original idea for this fic was heavier on the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcesOfSpade/pseuds/AcesOfSpade
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov had begun to distance himself from his body around the time he hit puberty. He still kept his hair long, until his late teens, until he finally couldn’t take it anymore. In a fit of angry tears, he took a pair of scissors and hacked his own hair off in the mirror of his bedroom in St. Petersburg, slowly starting to feel more like himself. No more tying his hair back and pretending it didn’t exist, no more having to take care of waist-length hair, no more being called ‘Miss Nikiforova’ mockingly. Because the haircut had both been for comfort, and for a statement:Viktor Nikiforov is here to stay.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: LGBTalk [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/378694
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	Here to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Hahahaha why is this my first fic for this fandom? Why was my immediate response after watch 12 episodes of the softest, sweetest love story to write _pain_?? This was deadass going to be a lot angstier, but I couldn't bring myself to write the darker ending. Instead, have a more hopeful ending. 
> 
> TW for transphobia, dysphoria
> 
> Also, while I'm not transmasc, I kinda projected a bit of my own dysphoria onto Viktor. I never actually cut off my own hair (thank the gods), but I keep getting close whenever it gets too long. Hair is actually something that can cause so much dysphoria. Fs in chat for me

Viktor Nikiforov had begun to distance himself from his body around the time he hit puberty. Nothing was developing the way he wished it would, so he learned to tune out the things he didn’t like to think about. He learned to adapt to the changes he didn’t want, the ones that slipped through the medications he had begged Yakov to let him take to feel more like himself. He still kept his hair long, until his late teens, until he finally couldn’t take it anymore. In a fit of angry tears, he took a pair of scissors and hacked his own hair off in the mirror of his bedroom in St. Petersburg, slowly starting to feel more like himself.

Yakov took him to a salon to fix the mess he’d made of his hair when he found Viktor the next morning, surrounded by clumps of spun-silver hair on the floor, tears dried onto his cheeks as he muttered ‘I couldn’t do it anymore’. The cut Viktor got from the salon was so much better than he could’ve given himself. He felt more _masculine_ , more like a _boy_. No more tying his hair back and pretending it didn’t exist, no more having to take care of waist-length hair, no more being called ‘Miss Nikiforova’ mockingly. Because the haircut had both been for comfort, and for a statement:

Viktor Nikiforov is here to stay.

Fans were split on Viktor’s haircut. Some called him awful names, told him he never should’ve been skating in the men’s division. Some supported him, even drawing him in costumes in the loveliest shades of pastel blue, pastel pink, and white. Those drawings nearly made Viktor cry for a whole different reason. The outpouring of support, the beautiful designs. They made Viktor feel _whole_ , like there was nothing wrong with him like the children at home always told him.

In Viktor’s first competition season after cutting his hair off, his theme was ‘Pride’, and both of his costumes were in Pride colours. He skated his short program in a dazzling black costume accented with a rainbow of rhinestones cascading over his left shoulder towards his right hip, glittering in the lights of the rink. For his free skate, Viktor skated in a white costume encrusted with rhinestones with a deep neckline filled in with pastel pink lace, a pastel blue sash around his waist and pastel blue lace fingerless gloves on his hands. That season was one of his most memorable, that was for sure.

As Viktor kept skating, showing those making awful comments he wasn’t going anywhere, he felt a bone-deep weariness. He shouldered the awful comments, deflecting them and not letting others see how they were affecting him. He was who he was, and no one was going to change that. Viktor Nikiforov was a _man_ , and that was final. He would skate amongst his fellow men, and he kept winning. He won his first in a long line of consecutive World Championship gold medals at the age of 22, his hair short, his spirits high, and his life starting to feel _right_.

The 2015 season was an interesting one. Viktor won gold in both Skate Canada and the Rostelecom Cup, though he wasn’t focused on his own programs. He was focused on the new skater that had clawed his way to the final, a Japanese skater by the name of Katsuki Yuuri. He was beautiful, captivating, enthralling. He squeaked through to the final six on what seemed like a miracle, but Viktor knew he belonged there.

And then, Katsuki Yuuri _crashed and burned_. He came in sixth place, after messing up every single jump in both his programs. That had to be a mistake. Viktor had seen Katsuki’s other performances. He had been _amazing_. What had changed between his last placement and the Grand Prix Final? Why had Katsuki failed so horribly? At the banquet in Sochi, Viktor noticed Katuski in the corner, downing endless glasses of champagne until something seemed to snap in him and he became an entirely different person. Care-free, adventurous, _flirtatious_. He flirted with Viktor, after challenging Yura to a dance-off and Christophe to a _pole-dance_ off, as if it were the most normal thing. He danced with Viktor as if they had done it a thousand times, and Viktor was _enamoured_ with Katsuki Yuuri.

When Katsuki clung to him, telling Viktor about his family’s _onsen_ in Hasetsu, begging Viktor to coach him, something in Viktor seemed to snap as well. Maybe a break from competing, from being endlessly scrutinized for every little thing he did, would be nice. Maybe getting to know this utterly endearing Japanese man would be _better_.

Viktor woke up the next morning with a hangover, as he had a few glasses of champagne, but Katsuki never reached out to him. Was he still sleeping? Hungover as well? Viktor wasn’t sure, as he packed his bags to head for the airport. Sochi to St. Petersburg wasn’t a long flight, so he had packed light to begin with, just his costumes and some street clothes alongside his skates. Everything fit into one suitcase, with the exception of his Team Russia uniform and sneakers, which he wore to the airport.

The moment Viktor spotted Katsuki Yuuri at the airport, he had a sudden realization. _He didn’t remember the banquet_. He was looking at Viktor like he was a stranger, not someone he had danced with so closely, showed off so much of himself to. It hurt, like a knife driving into Viktor’s heart, but he tried to play it off by asking if Katsuki wanted a picture. Katsuki turned tail and ran like a startled deer, and Viktor spent his entire flight home thinking he did something wrong. When Katsuki never reached out to him, Viktor felt a pit settle in his stomach. He had a few missing memories from the banquet; had he told Katsuki about his insecurities, and had that turned Katsuki away from him?

Sitting on his couch the following March, Makkachin covering his lap, Viktor had been scrolling YouTube when he found a trending video of Katsuki Yuuri skating one of his programs. He did it so well. Almost as well as Viktor himself. Watching Katsuki perform his program, something snapped in Viktor once again, something similar to the night of the Sochi banquet. Viktor was going to coach Katsuki. He was going to get him a gold medal. And maybe, just maybe, figure out what he did wrong to have Katsuki shut him out so completely after the banquet.

Packing a few suitcases of clothing and everything Makkachin needed, Viktor found the first flight to anywhere near Hasetsu, booking the first he could find. A one-way ticket, because he had no intention of leaving any time soon.

When Viktor first arrived at Yu-topia, he was greeted warmly, as he suspected any other guest would be, though there was recognition in the eyes of the woman behind the counter. She was maybe 30, with interesting hair and a nametag that he couldn’t read. Maybe... maybe he should’ve tried to learn Japanese before dropping everything and coming to Hasetsu. Shit. He really didn’t think this through, did he? He fumbled through some English, hoping the woman at the counter spoke enough to help him. Thankfully, she seemed to speak English fairly well, and introduced herself as Mari. She set him up with a room, and told him about the _onsen_ , even offering to keep an eye on Makkachin in the front room if Viktor wanted to take a soak after his flight. Viktor gratefully took her up on her offer, as she mentioned a more private _onsen_ if that was something that worried him.

Yes, being naked in public was something that worried him, so a private _onsen_ where he could stew for a while before tracking down Katsuki would be nice. He helped Mari bring his few suitcases to a spare room before making his way down to the _onsen_ , trying to avoid large groups of people that might recognize him.

Stripping down to nothing at the edge of the _onsen_ , Viktor stepped in and eventually just sat, up to his neck in pleasantly warm water. Everything he was concerned about was covered. His scars, his groin, all of it, hidden beneath the water. He almost drifted off to sleep when he heard some kind of commotion coming from the area near the doors. Panic seized him as he finally realized he was very naked in public, and he had no idea how people would react.

When it was Katsuki who came skidding into the private area, Viktor almost felt relief. Almost. Katsuki regarded him with such surprise as to why he was there that Viktor was _sure_ , in that moment, he didn’t remember the banquet, the request for Viktor to come to Hasetsu and be his coach.

In a bout of courage, and a strong feeling of determination, Viktor stood up, naked, extending a hand out to Katsuki, declaring he would be Katsuki’s new coach. He saw Katsuki’s eyes rake down his body, obviously noticing the things that weren’t quite.... _right_ , but he didn’t seem to react with disgust. Hope settled in Viktor’s chest like a seed.

* * *

Over the course of coaching Katsuki, who very _very_ quckly became just ‘Yuuri’, the seed of hope that had planted itself in Viktor’s chest slowly began to blossom. Yuuri was not disgusted by him. If Mari, who turned out to be Yuuri’s sister, was to be believed, Yuuri had posters of Viktor in his bedroom, from all stages of his career. He’d always been _out_ , been skating the men’s division, though there was a certain crawling sensation under his skin at the thought of Yuuri having posters of him with the long hair he sported in his late teens.

When Yuuri’s placements in the Grand Prix circuit were announced, Viktor was thrilled. He was _so proud_ of Yuuri, to the point where he would have kissed him right then and there, but he wasn’t sure if that would help.

The most brazen thing Viktor let himself do was apply chapstick for Yuuri at the Japanese qualifier, running his finger over Yuuri’s lips, letting them linger there for longer than was strictly needed. He just wanted to touch Yuuri’s lips.

When Yuuri smashed his face into the boards during his free skate, Viktor felt his heart physically _stop_ in his chest. When he got back up and kept skating, Viktor could almost pinpoint the exact moment he _truly_ realized he was in love with Katsuki Yuuri. His determination, his dedication, it all lent a hand in Viktor falling in love with him.

The Cup of China was a whirlwind. Seeing Yuuri successfully land _his_ jump, the quad flip, Viktor was blown away. In a split second decision, he rushed to meet Yuuri with a kiss after he finished, and _oh_. Kissing Yuuri felt like coming home.

The Rostelecom Cup went by in a blur, and suddenly, they were in Barcelona because _Yuuri made the final._ Yuuri’s first instinct was to go sight-seeing, and they ended up at a Christmas market. Viktor was happy to just shop, following Yuuri as he wandered, though the jewelry store had been an interesting choice. Yuuri buying a simple golden band? Viktor felt his heart racing. Viktor ended up buying an identical one when Yuuri stepped out of the store, paying in full as opposed to Yuuri arranging a payment plan.

Enxchanging rings felt like a proposal, and one of them brought it up. Viktor wasn’t sure which of them did anymore. It was a miracle Viktor’s hands weren’t trembling as he slid the ring onto Yuuri’s hand.

Every time Viktor saw Yuuri skate with that ring on his finger, the promise they had made to get married once Yuuri won gold (even if Viktor had come up with that after Phichit thought they had already gotten married), Viktor felt like he was flying.

Yuuri got silver. It wasn’t gold, that had gone to little Yura (and by _God_ was Viktor proud of Yuracha. _So proud_ ), but it was on the podium. A far cry from Sochi, where Yuuri had placed last. That night, in their hotel room after the banquet, Viktor finally got to know what making love to Katsuki Yuuri was like. No matter what fantasies he had, they all paled in comparison. It was fumbling, giggly, uncoordinated, but Viktor wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Getting back into competing after a year of coaching had seemed easy in theory. In practice, Viktor always felt nauseous when he got onto the ice to skate the program he’d put together. He even got nauseous practicing the pair skate exhibition he and Yuuri were doing. Food revolted him, so he didn’t eat as much.

It all culminated in Viktor passing out during a practice a few weeks after the exhibition, from his overexertion despite the lack of eating. He hit his head on the corner of the boards on the way down, cutting open his forehead deep enough to require stitches. He woke up to Yuuri sitting at his bedside, tears pooling in his lovely, lovely brown eyes.

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered, his voice breaking.

“What happened?” Viktor asked, his tone croaky and hoarse. How long was he out?

“You... you passed out,” Yuuri explained, reaching out to take Viktor’s hand in both of his. “Hit your head on the boards.”

“How long was I out?” Viktor rasped, relaxing under Yuuri’s touch.

“Two days,” Yuuri muttered. “They haven’t really told me much, and even if they had, my Russian is still patchy. I couldn’t understand the medical terms if I tried.”

A nurse came into the room shortly after, checking Viktor’s vitals to make sure the head injury hadn’t done any lasting damage.

“The doctor will be in to see you soon,” the nurse said in heavily accented English, clearly for Yuuri’s benefit. She left the room after that, leaving Viktor and Yuuri alone again.

“How do you feel?” Yuuri asked, still holding Viktor’s hand.

“I... cannot describe it,” Viktor shook his head. “I feel... fuzzy. Distant. Not whole.”

Yuuri brought Viktor’s hand to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles, sighing heavily.

The doctor came in a few minutes later, a sombre look on her face.

“Viktor Nikiforov?” the doctor asked.

“That is me,” Viktor nodded, feeling a sense of dread bulding in his chest at the expression on her face, and the tone of her voice.

“Well, Mr. Nikiforov, you’ve been doing quite the number on your body lately,” the doctor frowned, reading off his chart. “Borderline malnutrition, exhaustion, over-working yourself. None of that is ideal in your current condition.”

“My... current condition?” Viktor frowned.

“Mr. Nikiforov, have your periods ever been consistent?” the doctor asked instead, and _oh_ , reality came crashing down on Viktor from that one question. The nausea, the food revulsion, the lower back pain he had been ignoring as getting older, the weird cravings he’d brushed off as nothing. It all hit Viktor like a brick to the chest.

“No,” Viktor shook his head. “I was on puberty blockers, then hormones. My cycle has never been consistent.”

Yuuri’s posture seemed to straighten at the conversation, his eyes widening behind the lenses of his glasses. He stayed silent, though his mind was racing.

“I had a few tests run while you were unconscious,” the doctor went on. “I reccommend staying off the ice for the foreseeable future, and returning to a proper diet. It’s a miracle both of you have survived this long.”

There, right there, the simple ‘both’ was what tipped Viktor over the edge. Tears began welling in his bright cyan eyes, panic seizing his chest. His tears began spilling down his cheeks, pained sniffles escaping him.

“Hey, hey, Vitya, what’s wrong?” Yuuri asked softly, letting go of his hand to cradle Viktor’s cheeks in his own hands, wiping his tears away with his thumbs as fast as he could.

“What if I... what if I hurt our... our _malen'kiy_ because I didn’t know?” Viktor said in a quiet, broken voice that felt like a stab directly into Yuuri’s heart. “I have been so out-of-touch with my body since I was a child. What if that means I did something wrong?” he rambled, his left hand moving to rest protectively on his stomach.

“Mr. Nikiforov, there is nothing to worry about,” the doctor said gently. “Your child is fine. A bit small, for 26 weeks, but fine. You should be grateful. I have dealt with men who did not know until labour. You have around 14 weeks left before then. Just follow my advice, and the both of you should be fine.”

The doctor’s words slowly calmed Viktor down until he was just making small sniffles. He used his free hand to take one of Yuuri’s from his cheek, placing it atop his own on his stomach.

“I guess returning to competition will have to wait another year,” Viktor muttered softly. “I will not jeopardize this, not for anything.”

* * *

14 weeks and 3 days later, in an operating room at that same hospital, a baby girl was delivered. Viktor would have a permanent scar from the c-section, but he found he didn’t care. He didn’t care because that scar meant he _hadn’t_ done something to hurt his daughter in the 26 weeks he didn’t know about her. Now, with Yuuri by his side, and his daughter resting on his chest, Viktor was beyond thankful he chose to coach Yuuri instead of continue to compete. If he hadn’t coached Yuuri, he never would’ve known what being loved unconditionally felt like, nor the feeling of holding his daughter of the first time.

“What did you name her?” Yura asked a few hours later, when they were moved to a recovery room and visitors were allowed.

“Aiko Viktorevna Katsuki-Nikiforov,” Viktor smiled tiredly, beckoning Yura over.

“Aiko?” Yura asked, making his way over hesitantly. “You gave her a patronymic, but Aiko isn’t a Russian name.”

“Aiko comes from the _kanji_ for ‘love’ and ‘child’,” Yuuri explained, his gaze fixated on his little girl. “And technically, we bent the patronymic rules, but it felt right to use Viktorevna instead of what it should’ve been.”

“Would you like to hold her?” Viktor asked softly, earing a startled, deer-in-headlights look from Yura. “Go on, it’s okay, Yuracha. You can hold her,” he encouraged gently, showing Yura how to hold Aiko. “Aiko, meet your godfather,” he said in a soft tone, making Yura tear up.

“Godfather?” Yura squeaked out, looking down at the baby in his arms with wide eyes.

“If you’d like,” Yuuri nodded, a soft smile on his face. “I asked my sister to be godmother, since my family couldn’t fly in to meet her yet. Viktor wanted his brother to be godfather.”

“I...” Yura muttered, his face softening. “I’d be honoured, Vitya.”


End file.
